


Genesis

by Liminality (TyndallBlue)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, evil prompt, i deserved it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyndallBlue/pseuds/Liminality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "The last time they ever see each other."  Set in episode 5.18 "Point of No Return"</p><p>There was supposed to be more time than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Genesis

This wasn't supposed to be -it.- There was supposed to be more time than this, there wasn't supposed to be the cold, heavy weight of the box cutter curled into his sweating palm. But it was there, and Cas stood before him with the finality of a stone wall. His broad, rough jaw was taught, slightly tilted with challenge as the tapered fingers tugged at the already loose knot of his tie and flicked open the pearlescent buttons. And Sam was watching, hazel eyes and mouth thinned by silent protest so Dean had to swallow memories of exposing a pale pillar of throat and tasting the juncture of the firm shoulder. 

The blue-eyes were cut and cold and they no longer reflected the dark warmth of yellowing motel bulbs while they shrugged off his trench coat. The movements were swift and automatic, telling of muscle memory, palming the soft worn fabric into Sam's arms.

"Do it, Dean." And that voice might as well been dragging his heart over broken glass and his eyes were torn between the flesh that seemed too firm and too precious. In the muted, fogged air, the angel looked less than human. The pale skin seemed glowing and absent of shadow in the diffused light.

Cutting Cass' skin was like cutting marble, and despite Dean's familiarity with stitches and the give of flesh, he still wants to vomit at that first pop when he carves the stiff arc of the sigil. He nearly does at the second line, struggling with the curve of the circle. Somehow he fight down the bile with each slice, as the dark blood wells sluggishly. It felt that somehow the angel's heart always beat too slow; just enough to sustain the body. Even when they moved against each other between the rough, gritty sheets, it remained steady, thundering but calm in the pale chest. 

By the end his hand was trembling, and the wounds weapt steadily, quickly crowded the cotton undershirt with blood as it was tugged back into place and small white buttons threaded back through the eyelets. Cass never flinched once, merely watched his work with a critical eye. When he finally spoke, Dean was too busy licking the cold sweat from his upper lip. The salt banished the demons jostling for position on his tongue. I love you. I need you. I'm sorry. This was never how it was supposed to be. If I had known, I would have spent eternity on the rack. 

But, his lips said nothing, and Dean had to hope his eyes said everything. If Cass understood, he didn't say, instead calmly regarding Sam's complaints that was suicide. Icey blue eyes on him again, memories of a soft warm mouth.

"Well, at least I won't have to watch you fail."


End file.
